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At first, Lucius just sits, eyes closed, preparing himself, alone. He tries to open his mind as wide as possible, a sunroom with French doors thrown open on every side. Waiting.
It’s not that he’s nervous, per se. It’s just that he has a tendency to brace himself against what’s about to happen, and bracing has never been helpful these situations.
It’s as sudden as it always is, no matter how he prepares: a dark comet implanting itself in his brain, bending his gravity around itself, fire on fire on black crushing star fire—
Yes, all right, let’s not write a romance novel about it.
Lucius gasps, and chokes on a frightened laugh. His lungs feel like lead. His brain does, too, but the sting has already gone out of it. Each breath softens.
All right? The voice in his head asks again, and a hint of concern his swells up in Lucius’ chest. It isn’t his.
“Yes, I’m fine, love. It’s already better,” Lucius says aloud, and it’s true, the pain of entrance is easing like a cramped muscle. He’s always surprised at how something so painful can be so quickly soothed. He breathes.
There is a soft fluttering inside him, an unfolding, and Lucius opens his black eyes.
Severus inside every inch of him. Severus’ bones inside his bones, muscles inside his muscles, rolling their shared shoulders back. Severus’ fingertips inside his fingertips, unfurling like fern fronds. Severus’ heart racing alongside his own. Severus’ brain inside his brain, a solid and impregnable eight-ball. Severus.
Hello, Lucius tries, smiling.
Hello yourself, Severus whispers back inside both his ears.
Fancy meeting you here.
Severus laughs through him, and Lucius can feel his Adam’s apple drop and harden into an approximation of Severus’ voice. He’ll never get over this.
I believe you were wanking before I stopped in?
Lucius feels wrong-footed. It’s one thing to have a quick wank when he’s alone, but Severus is here too, the ultimate voyeur—present for both the touch and the visual. But Lucius can’t see him.
Wish I could kiss you, Lucius whines.
Severus rolls Lucius’ eyes. Honestly. Only you, Malf.
There’s a brief pause where nothing seems to be happening, and then the strangest sensation blooms underneath Lucius’ lips. It’s a tingle, and then a phantom press—he could swear an invisible force was spreading his lips apart. Suddenly the press turns to a swirling coolness—like menthol or the wet tip of a tongue—swiping across his bottom lip, delving lewdly into the corners of his mouth.
“Ah—fuck, how are you doing that?” How is he talking while being mind-kissed?
Ever seen a cortical homunculus?
No? Is that relevant? Or something I ought to have heard of? Do I even want to?
Severus snorts through Lucius’ nose. Perhaps not. But you should see your lips. It’s a whole playground up here.
See his lips? There’s nothing to see, except Lucius alone in his room, sprawled on his bed, getting débauché over nothing.
Never mind.
Severus’ phantom kisses return, sending sparks rippling across Lucius’ cheeks. He gasps, and the menthol tingle slips across his gums and down his throat.
“Ah, fuck—“ he gasps.
Again, you were wanking? I was lead to believe this would be a team effort.
Lucius smirks. Impatient.
His left hand shoots up from where it lay on the bed and slaps him clean across the face.
“Severus!” he gasps, “Ow!”
You have one job here and I’m not asking nicely again. I swear, you’ll be a unsalvageable pillow princess by the time you’re forty.
Lucius groans, not the least because Severus has started generating little pinching sensations like love bites all down the sides of this throat. I’ve only just turned thirty and we’re already thinking about forty, are we? Kinky.
Shut it.
Severus’ embarrassment starts under Lucius’ collarbones and spreads upwards. Lucius has always found humiliation to be an aphrodisiac, and Severus has always been prone to it—it’s a dangerous combination. He reaches down and finally takes his cock in hand, tugging it to full hardness. Severus gasps slightly inside his head, and Lucius has to wonder—
“What exactly is your experience of this, anyway,” he asks aloud.
Severus gains control of Lucius’ unoccupied hand and draws it up to pinch and viciously twist a nipple. They both gasp in unison. This. Same as yours.
“Truly the same, just as I feel?”
I think so.
Fuck.
That’s the plan. He can feel Severus smirking.
So Lucius spares no expense, drawing his hand up the length of his cock and over the sensitive head more slowly than he knows Severus would prefer. He can feel Severus’ stomach tremble within his and slows further, massaging the pad of his thumb deep into the vein. It’s enough sensation to edge into discomfort, but he wants to be sure Severus can feel it and doesn’t know if there’s some blunting involved in riding his brain like a remora on a shark.
Apparently not, because the hand-sized zones of sensation Severus has been trailing across Lucius’ chest melt and vanish with a tiny Ah! and hiss of mingled pain and pleasure. Knowing Severus is inside his every touch drives Lucius onward, fisting his cock and lifting his hips to thrust into his hand. Warm pressure builds quickly in the bowl of his pelvis, the faint throb chasing two heartbeats. It’s faster this way, and stronger—fuck, is it ever stronger.
Lucius’ hand rubs and twists, chasing his own pleasure and letting it build until they’re both arching after it. He pauses to drag the tip of his thumb along the trough below the head of his cock, and then ever so slightly pinches and rolls his frenulum before returning to a quick, tight-gripped stroke. Severus’ pleasure rolls through him like a wave, washing him in heat and then retreating, spreading and jittering through his thighs. Soon enough Lucius can hear him thinking crazed, undefined thoughts mostly comprised of “fucks” and “Luciuses.”
For a moment, Lucius thinks he may have gone too far, too quickly, but he stills his hand and Severus finds his way back from the brink. God, it’s been too long; he’s forgotten how sensitive Severus is. Or else he’s never fully known. This is a better look than he’s used to.
Lucius breathes for them both, resisting when Severus tries to squirm up again under his hand. There now, he thinks, good lad. You’re all right.
He’s almost positive Severus is responsible for his eyes fluttering shut.
My turn, Severus thinks. Hands off, please.
Since you asked so nicely. He dodges another, clumsier smack.
At first, Lucius barely notices the change from the steady thrum of his own arousal, but slowly one of the strangest sensations he’s ever felt blooms beneath—within—his cock. Pleasure prickles up inside him like an itch beneath his skin, impossible to scratch. Somehow Severus can reach even the parts of Lucius’ cock that lie inside his body, and bolt of pleasure zigzag outwards from his balls.
“Oh god,” he gasps aloud. “Ah—Severus—what—?”
But Severus’ mental voice has fallen silent, and all Lucius has to go on is the strange shudder of Severus’ pleasure—or is it his own?—as his cock burns and twitches. It’s not exactly a normal sensation, being touched from the inside out. Mental sounding, he thinks, and apparently Severus likes that. He feels it behind his solar plexus like a little star—like hot stones adding weight to his pelvis. Their arousal bounces off and amplifies each other, building up and crashing open.
Let me— Lucius tries to reach out to touch his cock, but his arms are dead and pinned to the bed, Severus’ claws are sunk deep into his brain.
His whole body shudders, and there’s more slick precome on his stomach that he could possibly have generated alone. At last, a real sign of Severus’ presence, and Lucius could faint from how hot the sight is. God.
He gets one more earth-shattering heave of pleasure before Severus pulls away.
Lucius, I need—
Lucius snaps instantly to attention—as best he can. Severus has used the word “need” in a sexual context perhaps twice ever, and it’s always been a hard-won victory on the Malfoys’ part.
I, erm— There a sense that Severus is gathering his dignity. I need you to touch your prostate for me. I can’t, ah, find it, exactly.
Fuck, that’s a hot command. But, what do you mean you can’t find it?
Can’t find the coordinate in your sensorimotor cortex. Every bit of your skin has a mirror in the part of your brain where I am—or mostly am. Sensorimotor cortex. The rest of your genitals are in a bit called the cingulate sulcus—
—Yes, all right, do we need the biology lesson?
Severus blushes and Lucius feels it in his face. It’s neuroscience, twit, and point being, if you touch your prostate down there, I can find it’s coordinate up here, and then I can touch you back. Erm, as I’ve been doing.
What an honor it is, really, to have access to Severus’ rough-draft thoughts.
Well. Lucius will need the lubricant that lives in the bedside table drawer posthaste. But— May I get up, please?
Since you asked so nicely.
Snot.
Lucius like the feeling of Severus’ smirks. They are distinctly sexy in a way Lucius is always trying to emulate. He tries to memorize the way it sits on his face.
Severus yields control of Lucius’ arms with difficulty, and Lucius stands and stretches. He looks like a Greek hero through Severus’ eyes, all golden skin, and decides he wants to get rid of his mirrors and keep Severus, just for this. He finds the lube, slicks it over both hands, one immediately going to his cock to keep it hard.
Kneel by the side of the bed, Severus commands. Well. ‘Keeping it hard’ doesn’t look to be a problem.
Holding his shimmering hands away from the duvet, Lucius rests his forearm on the edge of the bed and drops to one knee, trying not to think about how hot this is. (Hot. It’s hot. Severus evidently thinks so too—the second pressure thrumming behind his balls is back. Lucius imagines Severus as a dark figure standing behind him. It’s a lot.)
Stop giving me mental images of myself that I also find attractive. It’s skeeving me out.
Lucius laughs, and changes tracks, imagining Severus kneeling naked behind him, leaning over to breathe hot against his neck, pressing warm against his backside—warm and hard—
Severus thrusts forward into Lucius’ fist and they both groan at once. Fuck.
Lucius adds more lube to his free hand and reaches back, warm fingers sliding between his arse cheeks, finding the tender place. God, he’s ready, even if all he can get is his own fingers. He’s floating already, every sensation amplified. This is old hat, so without further ado, he pushes two fingers in deep—
With a sudden, sick lurch, every muscle in his body locks up, and oh fuck—Severus.
“Oh god, love, I’m sorry—I didn’t—I forgot—“
It’s fine. Just surprised. But Severus is still holding everything tight; it’s an all-points alert in Lucius’ neck and shoulders.
And no little wonder. Hot shame twisted Lucius’ stomach. He would never dive into Severus’ arse that way, not without permission. But he had thought—well, he had forgotten that Severus was right there inside him. (Same as you, Severus had said, same experience. Not the same intent. Damn.)
“I’m so sorry love; you weren’t ready.” Lucius feels strangely that speaking aloud will call Severus back to him—the Severus who teased him inside his mind. Instead, Severus’ Occlumency coats his brain like a liquid anesthetic. It tastes like cherry codeine.
It’s fine. Honestly, Lu. He can feel Severus rallying. Still the jitter of adrenaline, but at least he’s letting Lucius breathe again.
“It was absolutely barbaric of me,” Lucius says loyally.
No point wearing a hair shirt about it. Tell you what—tabula rasa—try again with that blue glass thing in the chest over there. I’ll be ready for it this time. Lucius waits a moment to feel what Severus is feeling. He’s… confident, more settled. All right.
So Lucius smiles, and it does them both good. Been snooping in Narcissa’s toys, have we?
Oh, I’m intimately familiar with that blue glass thing, whatever the hell it is.
Goodness. While the cat’s away… He collects the slim dildo from the chest and returns to the side of the bed. It’s as cool as the room, so he warms the cold glass between his palms. The deep blue rod is flared at the end, angled to reach the most sensitive bits inside him. He can understand why Severus likes it—and gets a faint glitter of pleasure through his cock from Severus just by looking at it.
Back in business.
Want to do this for me?
I don’t think I have that kind of control over your arm from up here.
Then just help, when you’re ready.
Lucius slicks the strap with yet more lube and uses the leftover on his cock, letting his hips jut and jitter back, imagining taking the strap inside. Lucius has somehow never had this one inside him, but Severus has, and that makes it far more attractive, somehow.
He runs the glass head over his slick opening—it smooth and still cold. He can feel Severus tense and relax as he realizes Lucius was honest about waiting.
Now.
Not yet. Lucius isn’t going to rush this time. He wants Severus frustrated and needing, not resolute.
So he takes his cock in hand again, swirling his fist the way Severus likes, interrupting now and then to ghost over the opening at the tip, sensitive to the point of overwhelm. Careful at first, as he realizes Severus is leaning into the sensation rather than pulling away, Lucius drives harder, thrusting into his fist.
One particularly emphatic thrust carries him forward until the head of his cock grazes the duvet. And, god, Severus lights up. And groans. It’s his first real noise out of Lucius’ mouth.
“Oh you like that, don’t you?” Lucius says gleefully, immediately jumping on it.
N-no, I— Severus’ brain switches off when Lucius arches his hips into the mattress with intent.
“Do you want me to fuck the bed for you? Is that what this is? You’re trying to get my clean bedspread all dirty? Look at how you’re dripping out of my cock, darling.”
The sun—It’s like the sun is hatching inside Lucius’ chest, burning through his stomach, through his cock and even deeper. And most of all, up through his neck and into his face, lighting his cheeks aflame. His hips twitch and roll forward. And it’s all Severus, all of it. God.
“Do you like that, darling?” Lucius grinds deep into the corner of the bed and nearly comes on the spot.
Lu, I—I need to be able to— he can feel Severus dragging his left arm back.
Wrong arm, sweetness. When Severus is like this, he can get away with calling him anything.
Lucius lines the dildo up with his opening, cool glass against white-hot flesh. Severus is trying to help, grappling with Lucius’ right arm like a bar of soap in the bath. It’s very endearing. But Lucius has other ideas.
He stands on shaky legs and leans forward, lowering himself down until his cock is pressed into the corner of the mattress, elbows on the bed, and legs open behind him, the balls of his feet braced against the hardwood.
All right? he asks Severus.
Severus nods through him. Lucius thinks he might be beyond the point of words.
He presses the dildo between his arse cheeks, proactively breathing slowly and deeply, trying to push his calm into Severus. At the same instant the glass penetrates his opening, he grinds forward into the mattress corner, sending a bolt of pleasure through them both. Good—it’s good. He can feel Severus slacken inside him, folding over onto the bed.
With Severus’ resistance mostly overcome, Lucius is fully in his own comfort zone. He arches his hips up, spreading wider, and lets his arse suck the toy in a little farther. Severus gasps and Lucius pauses. Still all right, love? Need a break?
No—keep going—
Lucius keeps Severus occupied in two ways—he grinds forward into the bed at regular intervals, and whenever he’s not drowning in Severus’ mattress-endured pleasure, he talks to him incessantly about how well he’s taking the glass cock.
That’s my boy, Lucius tells him as he twists the dildo, searching for the bright spark of pleasure. So good for me. So, so good and open for me. When Lucius finds his prostate, they both exhale at once, emptying Lucius’s lungs.
Severus is awash, at sea, his brain no longer speaking a common language with Lucius’. Yet they stay somehow in perfect tandem. When Severus gets too close to the brink and his thighs shake, Lucius holds them both steady. When the glass rod digs too deeply into Lucius’ prostate, it’s Severus who catches them from collapsing.
Mine, is Severus’ first coherent word in a long while, and Lucius surrenders to it. Mine. My turn.
Severus’ brain comes down over his like a benevolent vice, and Lucius nearly whites out. Somehow he ends up on his back on the bed, the dildo abandoned on the floor, and doesn’t remember how he got there. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for what Severus is currently doing inside him.
Well. He’s found it. The sensory-whatever coordinate for Lucius’ prostate. He must have done. Lucius feels not fully present, but my god, it’s good. He’s not sure he even has a body anymore, except he definitely knows his cock exists. And every deliciously pleasurable bit inside him—those must exist. But everything else is a fire-hot wash of sensation, and he’s floating, he’s brainless. He’s doesn’t need a brain.
Do you see? Severus purrs. You’re just my little science experiment, and now I’ve gotten what I wanted.
He’s simulating a cock inside Lucius’s arse, hot and deep and slowly growing. Every thrust brings along a twist like a finger deep into his most sensitive place. Lucius has his legs up, knees to his shoulders—he’s not sure how he’s gotten there, but it feels right. All he wants is more, deeper—
I’ve got you now, Severus is going on. I could leave you like this…
Lucius whines so loud the effort arches his back, and Severus nearly loses it. For the first time, Lucius tries to reclaim a bit of control over his brain, and Severus instantly acquiesces. There’s a common courtesy to this kind of Possession, after all.
And suddenly it’s a competition. Lucius squeezing his cock and frantically thrusting up into it, Severus alternately inside him and all over him, invisible hands frantically searching over his chest. Both of them starting to fight for it.
At first, it seems like Severus might win, his hot, rough touch in every right place, but Lucius reaches up and strokes the soft place behind his ear that he knows Severus likes, and wins a sound from the younger man that cracks his heart open.
“I need you—god—fuck—Severus, I need you—“ Lucius’ arms close around thin air and he can’t understand why Severus is everywhere but can’t be touched—can’t be held and gripped close. He wants Severus there, warm and curled small in his arms, clenching around him—there to be held and fucked into and hot and held—
Oh god, god, Lucius gasps as sensation washes over him, drowns him. It’s so much much more intense that he could have thought—and he cries out as pleasure shoots through his cock once, twice, and then never recedes. He’s still drowning—
Just behind he can feel Severus’ notched arrow, the inevitable pull of the bowstring. Oh god, oh god, help, Severus thinks, and suddenly a completely different wave of pleasure hits Lucius’ body, radiating out from his pelvis to his chest, seizing along his spine and exploding under his collar bones, washing over his brain, taking his whole body down. Lucius’ back arches into to the bed so hard he thinks his spine will snap, and through the overwhelming rush of sensation, Severus’ wail rips out of his throat.
Coming down is not easy. Each of their twitches and aftershocks set the other off again, and Lucius’ eyes blur with tears. He’s given up on sorting out who’s responsible.
Severus tries to regain control too early, forcing Lucius’ lungs to breathe artificially, attempting to use his Occlumency to gather up Lucius’ brain, which is a fool’s errand.
“It’s all right—‘s all right, love,” Lucius says, “it’s my body; let me handle it now.”
He breathes. Severus is a miserable breather. So Lucius sighs and sinks back into the bed, feeling Severus still trembling inside him. He’s there.
Severus. Still in every inch of him. Severus’ arse still seizing inside Lucius’ arse. Severus’ cock twitching at the base of Lucius’ cock. Severus’ sweat gathering behind Lucius’ knees. Severus’ burning blush still all over Lucius’ face. Severus’ strange twist of nausea when Lucius’ looks down and sees just how much semen they’ve jointly generated—that’s interesting—
Right, that’s enough of you, Severus cuts in, and Lucius can feel him pulling back from their joined brain. It feels like the mental equivalent of regaining good posture. I’m going to put my body back on.
Lucius nods, body still roiling a bit from the aftershocks. He throws a sweaty arm over his eyes, giving Severus privacy. Severus’ exit is only slightly more comfortable than his entrance; the sudden loss makes Lucius’ stomach flip, as when a broom falls out from under him in flight. It’s not so much that he feels empty, but coming back to his body—just his body—he can’t help but be surprised this is all there is. Just one set of thoughts. Just one rapid-fire heartbeat. The room is very quiet.
He uncovers his face only when the edge of the bed dips under Severus’ hesitant weight. The younger man sits facing half away from him, all dark hair and stiff shoulders, rubbing feeling back into his fingers. He’s still in the pajama trousers from earlier, flexing his toes.
“All right?” Lucius whispers. “Everything still fit?”
Severus turns, his razor-cornered smile always a new miracle. “What, this old flesh sack?”
Lucius laughs without expecting to. “I love you,” he blurts. “I mean, I missed you. It was a rather long thirty seconds.”
Severus kneels up on the bed, clambering to where Lucius lies. His face is pure judgement. “You’re weird after orgasm, Malfoy,” he says, and earns another chuckle from the Malfoy in question.
Severus settles in and they lay together for a while, drifting slightly. Lucius watches Severus’ blanched face regain its typical post-coital flush, blood creeping up through its vessels, Severus slowly reoccupying himself.
“Going to read me my Right to Silence?” Severus asks out of the blue.
“Hmm?”
“You know… ‘anything you do say may be given in evidence’….”
“Ah, no. Far from it. I’ve forgotten everything I thought I knew. After sex my brain gets washed clean as a slate.” Lucius grins.
“Oh, very funny.” But Severus seems marginally reassured. Enough to rest again for a long, glorious minute.
Eventually Severus shifts back and stretches, complaining of legs gone all pins and needles, and it isn’t fair, Lucius decides, that his body should be so absent from the night’s experiences. After all, only Lucius is still breathing hard and perspiring. Only Lucius gets the full-body oxytocin and leftover thrum of pleasure. Severus was in Lucius’ brain through their climaxes, of course, but now his body sits stiff and unused, the awkward third wheel to their sex.
“Oi,” says Lucius. (He’d only dropped “I say” after Severus proved he really was willing to thump him for it.) “We haven’t done you yet.”
“What do you mean we haven’t done me,” Severus snarls. Lucius supposes it’s easier to snarl when lying down. Horizontality lends something to its… throatiness. “I expect you were there when—“ When Lucius nearly broke his spine on Severus’ orgasm, he must mean.
“Oh, I felt that,” Lucius assures him, “but this—“ he brushes his fingers over the trail of thin, dark curls on Severus’ abdomen “—this we have decidedly not done.”
Severus takes a carefully controlled inhale, and Lucius thinks his hunch is right—Severus’ brain may be fully sated but his previously absent body certainly is not. Ha.
Lucius combs through the trail of curls on Severus’ stomach, waiting for the tiny note of desperation to play across the complicated space between his eyebrows. When it does, he digs his fingertips deep into the muscle above Severus’ waistband. Severus’ hips kick up involuntarily at the sudden sensation and he groans, giving up.
“Fuck, Lu, how the hell do you have energy for this? I’m utterly knackered after what we’ve just done.”
Lucius smiles. “Probably because I didn’t go to the absolutely massive magical effort of Possessing my boyfriend—“ he ignores Severus’ scoffing “—in order to get us both off, whereas you—“
Lucius’ hand slips deeper into Severus’ trousers and finds the base of his cock. Severus’ noise of complaint at Lucius’ praise is swiftly compromised.
“Yes, all right,” Severus mumbles, already flush-faced. He lifts a knee, granting Lucius better access. “So long as I don’t have to do any of the work and you hurry up—I really am about to fall dead asleep.”
Three orgasms and ten subsequent hours of rest have done Severus wonders, Lucius thinks. His sleeping face looks young, washed free of dark circles, for once the twenty-four-year-old he truly is.
Later, Lucius will drag Severus down to the East wing’s little breakfast room, the one with all the golden sunshine this time of day. There, he’ll ply him with toast and jam and orange juice, Severus’ fingers still trembling from the night’s exertion and low blood sugar. And when Narcissa comes home, she’ll see them both, knocked lose and alive in the sunshine, and smile, guessing at what’s happened in her night away. Waiting—inevitably—to be told. In detail. In excessive detail to her husband’s great delight.
For now, Severus is still drifting on the edge of sleep, stomach-down on the feather bed. Lucius’ touch on his back is careful and chaste; sleep, like Possession, is another form of absence.
Yes, in another hour, Severus will be plowing through the breakfast room’s half kitchen with the arrogance of the recently fucked, all sharp corners, knife and tongue. But here, in the warm, artificial mid-morning darkness, Lucius feels Severus’ diaphragm release and rise under his hand, for the moment soft as anything.